


Wakanda Sun

by DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered



Series: The Soldier and The Spy [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: F/F, Morning After, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 17:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13885281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered/pseuds/DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered
Summary: Nakia wakes up in Okoye's bed after an evening together.





	Wakanda Sun

The morning in Wakanda stretches itself, slow and graceful as cat over the horizon.  She wakes with the early brush of its sun, pale yellow and gentle on her cheeks as she lays tangled in … her head is fuzzy.  Ah, yes.  She squeezes her eyes as tightly shut as she can and then opens them.  Okoye is beside her.  It is not the sun on her cheeks, but Okoye’s calloused fingers.

“Wake up, Nakia.”  Her voice is soft, not like Nakia is used to hearing it.  Okoye’s normal way of speaking is stentorian and vibrates in Nakia’s chest, and Nakia likes that.  But she likes this other Okoye, the one whose edges are a little blurred, a little soft, whose spine is a little relaxed as she’s curled around Nakia.  Okoye’s voice is deep and languid, and she lays little kisses on Nakia’s neck and shoulder in between her words as she speaks:  “If you… are worried about being seen … you should… probably get dressed … and go… before the sun gets… too much higher.”

Nakia wakes a little more and remembers the night before; the festival, the very strong tea, Okoye watching her dance.... It had taken a few moments to figure out that the brilliant warrior was more than a little impaired, because she still managed to remain ramrod straight.  It was only when Okoye drew her closer and dizzily complimented her dancing and addressed her as “princess” that she realized.  Nakia had taken her hand and led her out of the noise and brightly colored crowd of the plaza, strung with lanterns and pulsing with music.  She had led her to a darkened doorway down a small side street and declared as they tripped along, “You are high.”

“I am not,” Okoye had objected.

And then Nakia had playfully spun around and, realizing a sudden impulse that had been there for some time, planted a little kiss on her mouth.  Okoye had looked at her with a little confusion, and then kissed her back, and for far longer.

“Yes,” Nakia had giggled, “you are.  You would never kiss me like that if you were not.”

So their night was long, and filled by turns with roughness and gentleness, of eager and sometimes aggressive discovery.  It was honest, the way it can only between two people who have lingered at the periphery of each other’s wanting for this long.

She flips onto her side now and regards Okoye.  Her eyes dance as she takes in how much softer she looks in the pale, quiet morning, with sleep still lingering around her eyes and a faint smile playing on her lips.  “Trying to get rid of me already?” she teases.

Okoye looks wounded for a moment, then her lips pout and become sly and she leans in, presses her forehead to Nakia’s.  “I would keep you all day and all the next night if I could,” she growls, almost convincingly.  “Do not play with my affections.”

Nakia pounces, knocking Okoye back and briefly pinning her to the bed.  “What will you do?”

Okoye wraps a long, muscular leg around her hips and flips them back over.  A wisp of Nakia’s wild curls gets caught in her mouth.  “You do not–”  She pauses to spit it out.  “–you do not want to find out.”

“You are very threatening,” Nakia jabs, giggling.  She lifts her head and nips Okoye’s shoulder several times.  Enough to hurt, but not enough to hurt unpleasantly.  “I am afraid now.”

Okoye closes her eyes, clearly enjoying the bites.  She opens them and gazes down at her, and her face becomes serious again.  “I only did not want to presume.  If you wished this to remain away from the ears of the royal family and the King–”

“I am not his queen,” Nakia reminds her with a hint of sass.  “I can do what I like… and  _who_  I like.”

Okoye chuckles silently, but says nothing.  

It’s pleasant in her bed, Nakia thinks.  She could make a habit of this.  Her line of work discourages such intimacy, discourages repeated entanglements, the knowing of another’s heart and body.  Because they become a vulnerability for you.  She loved T’Challa once; he will always be a vulnerability.  Okoye is only the second person that she has ever thought might be worth risking her armor for.  She is beautiful the way only a warrior woman can be.  She has seen down into the depths of her heart and knows that it is honor and duty and courage, to its very core.  She would never dream of saying she is in love; how could she, when this way of being with Okoye is so new?  But she weighs the liability against the tug of her gut, the one that wants another night with her, that is curious to see all the chambers of her heart.  The one that does not care who sees her walking home from Okoye’s home above the Dora Milaje’s barracks.  

“Yes, but wisdom must also prevail, no?”

Nakia smiles, and for a moment she feels awkward.  “You are right.  It must.  But… I would like to see you again.”

“You see me all the time.”

Nakia snorts.  “You are not funny.  I mean like this.”

Okoye nods, thinking.  “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

Okoye winks.  “That is what you get for saying I am not funny.”

Nakia laughs.  The sun is rising.  She kisses Okoye, runs her palms over her shaved head.  “Forgive me, brave warrior.  You are hilarious.”

Okoye is smiling now, with her dazzling white teeth and her dark eyes glowing and her voice full of honey, and she says, “So, again, then?”

Nakia nods.  “Yes, again.”

“But for now, you should go.”

Nakia nods again.  “Yes, I should.”

The sun grows ruddy, and Nakia feels Okoye watch her as she dresses.  She doesn’t mind it.  Just like the sun, she knows she will return, steal across this bedroom floor after a night of burying and resurrecting herself in Okoye’s strong, brown limbs.   _Again?  Yes, again._


End file.
